


Angel On The Outward Side

by katling



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agnes Nutter is no fool, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Damsel in Distress Crowley, Eldritch beings, Fluff, Footnotes, Little bit of angst, M/M, Post-Canon, SO MANY FOOTNOTES, also, taking liberties with angelology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22356730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katling/pseuds/katling
Summary: Agnes Nutter was no fool. She was also an extremely accurate Seer. As such, she had a back up plan for her new prophecies - Aziraphale. Who becomes the recipient of said prophecies,  moves his relationship with Crowley into something deeper and discovers a truth about himself that has been hidden for 6000 years. Crowley would just like to snuggle with his angel and not be a damsel in distress.Written for the Good Omens Big Bang over on tumblr.Amazing art byAmi V Dragnire.Thanks to the lovely and very patient luxuriant, who put up with my comma usage problems (Either 'Commas! Commas everywhere!' or 'Commas? Don't know her'.) and had the remarkable ability to read my mind and work out what I meant to say over some clunky word usage here and there.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 331
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, there are footnotes. So. Many. Footnotes. However, I have (hopefully) got the coding done so that those who prefer to read a chaptered fic as one document will find the footnotes work instead of being all messed up. And if it hasn't worked, I will probably cry great big sobbing tears because it took _forever_ to do the coding.

The Armageddon had stopped before it really started, four Horsemen had been sent on their way, Heaven and Hell had been thwarted, dinner had been eaten at the Ritz and an angel and a demon had been sitting in a cluttered but cozy bookshop, drinking copious amounts of exceptionally good red wine, for at least six hours now. They were, as a result, both extremely sloshed.

“You… you never tol’ me what my trial was like,” Aziraphale slurred from where he was slouched deep in his favourite armchair[1]. He’d asked of course, back when they’d met again in St James’ Park but Crowley had been his usual wily self and deflected the question back to what had happened in Hell. Aziraphale had let it go, aware from Crowley’s expression that it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, but now, in his inebriated state, he’d forgotten about that. Though, to be honest, he would always have come back to it at some point.

“It was a trial,” Crowley said with broad gestures with his hand as the faint hint of sobriety still clinging desperately in his mind started waving a red flag at him. The hand he was wafting about was the one that was holding his wine glass but the wine inside the glass had the good sense to stay where it was despite the motion giving it the urge to fling itself all over Aziraphale’s couch[2]. “Seen one trial, seen ‘em all.”

“No, no, no,” Aziraphale said, pouting and waggling his finger. His wine glass was tilted rather dangerously but the wine inside was taking notes from Crowley’s wine and staying where it should be. “I _need_ to know. Jus’ in case.”

“In case what?” Crowley replied, his sobriety reminding him this was a dangerous conversation and maybe he should let it take control and steer it off into a better direction.

“In case I have to talk about it,” Aziraphale announced, still looking a little pouty. It was a dangerous look. It was the sort of look that, when combined with a pair of large, pleading blue eyes, had convinced Crowley to do any number of things over the years. “I should know what happened to me. Even if it wasn’t me.”

Sobriety was now tapping Crowley on the shoulder quite urgently and while normally he wouldn’t pay much attention to it, this time he did. He frowned and sobered up, straightening from his competition level slouch as some of the wine bottles refilled.

“Angel,” he said with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “Why’re you sober? Should I be sober?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Crowley said hurriedly. Sober Aziraphale was far harder to distract when he got his teeth into something than sloshed Aziraphale, but it was too late.

Aziraphale smacked his lips and grimaced at the aftertaste left from sobering up. “What happened?”

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses having long since been discarded, and closed his eyes. “You really don’t want to know, angel,” he said softly. “Just… leave it.”

Aziraphale was silent for a moment, then set his wine glass down on the table. “I think I should know, don’t you?” he asked quietly. “Crowley?”

“You won’t like it,” Crowley said, running his hand down his face.

Aziraphale sighed. “There’s not been much about all of this that I _have_ liked.”

Crowley didn’t say anything, still desperately casting around for a way to change the subject. He knew he could walk out – throw a tantrum and refuse to say anything and stomp off. Aziraphale would let him go as he had so many times in the past, but this would still be hanging over their heads. Aziraphale wouldn’t forget about it now. Crowley’s reaction had ensured that. And he’d never been one to really, truly lie to his angel. He certainly wasn’t going to start now.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft and gentle, coaxing him to speak even though he didn’t want to.

Crowley slouched down on the couch again in defeat. Aziraphale would pull out the eyes and the pretty little pout next, if he wasn’t doing so already[3]. He sighed and stared down into the wine that was still in his glass.

“They didn’t give you one,” he murmured.

Aziraphale didn’t say anything, though Crowley knew he’d heard what he’d said. The stillness from the other side of the table was one of shock, not anything else.

“What?” Aziraphale finally said, the word escaping despite his best efforts.

“They didn’t give you a trial, angel,” Crowley said as gently as he could. “Some random demon brought up the hellfire and they told me to get into it and die already.”

Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley immediately wished he’d softened that last bit. He looked over at the angel and felt something in his chest crunch up into a tight, painful ball at the lost and hurt look on Aziraphale’s face and the tears welling in his eyes.

“So that was it, was it?” Aziraphale said, his voice brittle. “Off you pop and we’ll sweep the ashes under the carpet?”

Crowley was moving before he knew it, coming to rest kneeling in front of Aziraphale, who was now staring into nothing with glassy eyes. “Angel,” he said softly. There was no doubting in that moment that the word was an endearment. He plucked the wine glass from Aziraphale’s fingers and set it aside before taking both his hands in his own. “Fuck ‘em. What would they know about doing the right thing? Pricks.”

He was relieved when Aziraphale focussed on him, a bit of life flooding back into his eyes. “Crowley,” he protested but it was weak and Crowley didn’t care anyway. Those bastards didn’t deserve Aziraphale’s concern. They didn’t deserve _Aziraphale_.

“No, fuck them,” Crowley said firmly. “You saw what Gabriel was like with Adam. Trying to bully a kid…” He rolled his eyes when Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something. “Yeah, yeah, Antichrist and all but still a kid. What the fuck does he know about being good?”

“He… he’s an Archangel[4],” Aziraphale protested.

“So?” Crowley said with a frown and a shrug. “He’s a pompous, self-righteous prick with a monumental stick up his arse. If he’s what an angel’s supposed to be about then it’s no wonder God hasn’t spoken to any of them in ages.”

“She hasn’t exactly been speaking to me either,” Aziraphale replied[5]. “So I can’t claim any moral high ground.”

“Yes, you can,” Crowley said. “She didn’t smite you, didn’t smite either of us, for stopping Armageddon, did she? Didn’t toss you down to join me? What’s that if not approval?”[6]

Aziraphale blinked and stared at him for a long moment. “Oh. I didn’t think about that.”

“Neither did Gabriel and the rest of his cronies, I’d say,” Crowley replied. He sounded a little vague and thoughtful, as though he too was just coming to terms with the potential truth in what he’d mostly said as a throwaway line to make Aziraphale feel better. “Might not have been too quick on the recriminations if they had.”

He’d have continued but now Aziraphale was staring at him, his eyes wide and something Crowley refused to define on his face. He looked, if Crowley was perfectly honest, as if he was having something of a divine revelation. It looked startlingly good on him.

“ _Oh_ ,” Aziraphale breathed. “Oh, my dear Crowley. My _dearest_ one.”

Crowley was horrified to find himself blushing at endearments so long wished for and he opened his mouth to protest[7]. Unfortunately, the only thing that came out was a strangled noise that might have been “Ngk”.

Aziraphale didn’t look like he minded. In fact, his smile became warmer and more… _everything_. “I’m not beholden to Heaven anymore. And you’re not beholden to Hell. We’re _free_.”

Crowley had no idea where Aziraphale was going with this so all he could manage was another strangled noise. Aziraphale was practically glowing, and the look he turned on Crowley was so full of love and care and wonder and desire and everything, just _everything_ Crowley had ever wanted to see from the angel, that his brain just sort of… melted. He’d have transformed into a snake and slithered away in embarrassment if he’d been even remotely capable of summoning the ability to do so. He just wanted to throw himself into Aziraphale’s arms and never leave.

And maybe he did. Or maybe Aziraphale pulled him close. He wasn’t sure and honestly didn’t care at this point. He just knew he was _in_ Aziraphale’s arms, straddling his lap, and cuddling close with something that could possibly have been a contented sigh.

“Oh, my dearest Crowley, my love,” Aziraphale said as he pressed a kiss on Crowley’s temple. “I am so sorry that I have made you wait. But I could not have borne losing you if Heaven or Hell had found out. So I hid and I denied and I pushed you away but I… we… don’t have to do that anymore. We’re on our own side.”

Crowley raised his head and he knew he was blushing and he knew his expression was open and vulnerable and afraid but he had to say this, he had to know. “Angel?” he croaked. “You… do you…?”

Aziraphale smiled bashfully and the part of Crowley that wasn’t either melting into a puddle of demonic goo or trying to convince himself that this was just a particularly vivid and cruel dream was amused that the angel could actually be bashful when he had a lapful of demon.

“Love you? Oh yes, Crowley. So very much.”

Crowley made another of those strangled noises and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. He heard the angel’s soft laugh and then his hand gently rubbing along his back[8]. He was just wondering whether he might be able to get away with pressing a kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s neck when there was a sudden loud, insistent banging on the door.

* * *

1 The armchair was nearly two hundred years old, and given the amount of use it had seen, it really should have collapsed about eighty years ago. It was, however, well loved and the recipient of several careful miracles that had kept it sturdy and comfortable in all the best ways.[return to text]

2 Crowley’s wine often had that kind of good sense. It knew better than to deny the demon the chance to drink it. It also knew better than to stain the angel’s couch. Crowley liked that even less than not being able to drink wine.[return to text]

3 He was. There was a reason why Crowley was refusing to look at him. He knew that the pout and the eyes would be there and what little resistance he still had would evaporate in an instant.[return to text]

4 Archangel with a capital A, thus out-ranking Aziraphale, as opposed to an archangel with a small a, who wouldn’t even dream of going around giving orders to a Principality. This is how the general hierarchy in Heaven works: Seraphim – Cherubim – Thrones – Dominions – Virtues – Powers or Archangels (capital A – very important point, that, but also the reason why they were often called Powers) – Principalities – archangels (small a) – angels.[return to text]

5 Aziraphale was wrong. She _had_ been speaking to him, just not with words. She’d tried using words in the past, and the results had been mixed at best. Too many angels tended to follow the letter instead of the spirit of what She said. Aziraphale did the opposite, and She didn’t want to intimidate him into being like the rest of the angels by suddenly speaking to him directly.[return to text]

6 God gave a brief thought to perhaps a fanfare and an angelic choir singing Hallelujah to emphasise that Crowley was right but decided, with a great and mighty sigh, not to. She’d been watching them for long enough to know that they’d _both_ react poorly to that, even if She’d enjoy it immensely.[return to text]

7 Only on form. He was almost pathetically delighted by them, in fact, and wanted more. But he was a demon and he couldn’t admit _that_.[return to text]

8 Had either of them being paying attention to anything other than each other – which, honestly, no one was expecting after 6000 years of mutual pining – they might have felt a somewhat seismic spiritual shift to the left (or the right… or maybe up… or possibly in some ineffable direction that could never be spoken of) as certain things came to be. Or to put it more precisely, as Agnes Nutter was wont to do: _And once the Truthe hath been spoken, then shall the Angel take the Demon into his arms and speak Words of Love. And in doing so shalle Events be set in motion and they may Notte be turned aside_ \- The Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Prophecy 1.[return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deliveryman arrives.

Aziraphale gave a startled squeak and held onto Crowley tightly, fear suddenly gripping him at the very inconveniently timed interruption. For a moment, he froze, wondering if it was Heaven or Hell but then he gave himself a stern mental shake. Neither Heaven nor Hell would have knocked at his door, especially not if it involved their reaction to _this_. No, Gabriel and the others would have simply appeared in the room and… well, done something unpleasant. The point being… they would _not_ have knocked.

He gave Crowley a little pat and from the way he slowly, reluctantly slithered from his lap and stood facing the door defiantly, their thoughts were clearly running in the same direction. Aziraphale stood and joined Crowley, straightened his clothes as he did.

“Perhaps you should wait here, dear,” he said, his voice sounding much firmer than he actually felt.

“Angel…” Crowley began but he fell silent when Aziraphale patted his arm.

“I don’t think it's them.”

Crowley nodded warily and Aziraphale made his way to the front door of the shop. He hadn’t bothered to close the blinds and he could see the man waiting outside quite clearly. Given who it was, he didn’t relax one iota but at least he knew that it wasn’t the worst case scenario. Or at least, he didn’t think it was. He drew in a breath then opened the door.

A very familiar deliveryman gave him a long look then blinked. “Er, hello, sir, madam or otherwise.[1] Delivery for you.”

He held out a wooden chest and Aziraphale took it almost by instinct. It wasn’t overly heavy but there was certainly a bit of _weight_ to it. Aziraphale had a sneaking suspicion most of that weight was metaphorical. Perhaps even metaphysical.

“Sign here please,” the deliveryman said, holding out a clipboard.

“Erm, yes,” Aziraphale said, rather nonplussed. “Let me just…” He dithered for a moment then a pair of long, thin, black-clad arms reached around and took the chest from him. He gave Crowley a relieved and grateful smile. “Thank you, dear.”

He took the clipboard, but the delivery note didn’t tell him much, just that the chest in question was to be delivered to…

He looked up at the deliveryman with surprise. “You… know?”

“Know what, sir, madam or otherwise?” the man said with a bland expression.[2]

Aziraphale shifted the clipboard when Crowley peered over his shoulder and he heard his startled hiss. The delivery note was addressed to ‘The Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate’. He looked up at Crowley who was now alternating between glaring at the note and the deliveryman.

“Just sign for it, angel,” he said shortly before disappearing into the shop with the chest.

“I’ll need your, er… full signature,” the deliveryman said, just a little awkwardly.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said faintly. “Of course.”

He took up the pen and it started to glow. The sigil he scrawled onto the note also glowed a deep golden colour and when he handed the pen back to the deliveryman, Leslie stared it in surprise before tucking it into his pocket, where the glow started to fade.

“Have a good day,” the deliveryman said with an amiable nod. He turned and got back into his truck and Aziraphale watched with bemusement as he drove off into the Soho traffic.

He finally closed the door and locked it, this time also lowering the blinds. When he joined Crowley out the back, the chest had been placed on his desk and the demon was circling around and staring at it intently, as though trying to divine its purpose from the outside. Aziraphale stood next to him and frowned at his mystery delivery.

“Going to open it?” Crowley asked with poorly disguised curiosity and just a hint of worry.[3]

“I suppose I ought to,” Aziraphale replied.

He stepped forward and unlatched the fastener on the chest. It was a rather simple looking thing but very beautiful in its simplicity. It was also, if his eye was correct, rather old. He flipped the lid open to reveal an envelope with his name written on it and a bundle wrapped in cloth. He picked up the envelope with what he felt was a reasonable amount of trepidation and opened it, pulling out the note inside.

_To the Principality Aziraphale,_

_I gift unto thee the second copy of these further prophecies since mine descendant, Anathema, hath put Her copy to the flamme. She is a sensible lass who shalle do very well with the Pulsifer lad._

_I say unto thee, foolish Principality – read not these words of mine until six months to the day have passed since the End of the Worlde was averted. Should ye do so before that day, all will come to naught and the World shalle end forthwith._

_Yours most respectfully,  
Agnes Nutter_

_P.S. Neither should they be read by the demon ~~Crawly~~ Crowley nor anyone else before the same date._

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly as he handed the note to Crowley. He chuckled. “I see she knows you well enough to close that loophole.”

Crowley grumbled under his breath and then glared alternately at the note and the wrapped bundle. As he did, Aziraphale lifted the bundle out of the box, placed it on his desk and gently unwrapped it. Inside was a pile of parchment bound with string with the title showing it was indeed a second volume of prophecies from Agnes Nutter.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, his eyes wide and shiny with delight. “An original copy! Not even bound. Marvellous.” He reached for the topmost piece of parchment then abruptly withdrew his hands and clasped them tightly with a slightly distressed look on his face. “Oh dear.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and grinned at him, all tease. “The ultimate temptation, eh, angel?”

He got a rather reproving look in return but there was too much amusement gleaming in Aziraphale’s eyes for Crowley to be worried that he might have upset the angel.

“Quite,” he said primly.

Crowley read the note again and this time when he looked at the pile of prophecies, his expression was more sober. “So it’s not over.”

“Only if we read the prophecies before the six months have passed,” Aziraphale replied. “Though there being further prophecies from Agnes does rather imply that something else is on the cards.”

Crowley grumbled and tucked the note back into its envelope. He set it on the desk then carefully wrapped the prophecies back up again and put them back in the chest.

“Maybe I should take them back to mine and put them in my safe,” he said. “Then you won’t be tempted.”

Aziraphale chuckled ruefully. “Oh, I’ll still be tempted, but that might be a good idea anyway.”

Crowley nodded and closed the lid of the chest. He hefted it in his arms and was just about to turn when he saw the rather crestfallen look on Aziraphale’s face.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale looked down then bit his lip. “Must you leave so soon? We had just…” He paused and waved a hand. “Well, I, er… I’d rather you stay.”

Crowley felt his face heat up. He spat out a few sounds that possessed vowels and consonants, though not quite in the order that made up proper words, before he took hold of himself and gave himself a brief but solid talking to. “Sure,” he finally managed to croak and he put the chest back down on Aziraphale’s desk.

He was rewarded with a beaming but slightly shy smile as Aziraphale gestured towards the couch. Crowley blinked, stared at the couch for a moment, stared at Aziraphale for another moment then closed the gap between them until he was pressed up against Aziraphale’s front. The angel drew in a shuddering breath and wrapped his arms around him and pulled them even closer together.

“Oh, this is lovely,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley gave a nonchalant shrug that failed at actually _being_ unaffected by their position. “Could make it better?”

“Really? How?” Aziraphale looked intrigued and delighted by the very idea.

That made Crowley freeze for a moment. “Angel? Have you ever…?” He made a complicated gesture with one hand that encompassed many, many questions.

Aziraphale seemed understand all those questions without difficulty and he blushed. “Oh, well… um… I, er, made the Effort, as it were, quite some time ago. Modern clothes just don’t look right without it and tailors get quite upset if things aren’t as they expect them to be.”[4]

Crowley decided not to comment on Aziraphale’s definition of ‘modern clothing’. “Have you… er.. done anything with… it?”

Aziraphale blushed even more. “Erm, well, not with a human, no. Though dear Oscar did insist on being very tempting.” He clearly saw the way Crowley’s eyes narrowed and hurried on. “But I have, erm, taken myself in hand, as it were. On occasion.”

Crowley let that little titbit about Oscar Wilde go since he wasn’t in the mood to wind Aziraphale up about that right now. He had more interesting plans.

“Proper little hedonist, aren’t you?” he teased.

Aziraphale gave him a pouty glare. “It’s not a sin, Crowley. I’d know.”

Crowley knew that but right at that moment, his brain was presenting him with many different possible variations of what Aziraphale might look like while he was masturbating and not only was it derailing his ability to speak but it was also making his own Effort take an interest in proceedings.

Before he could say anything, Aziraphale continued. “I would, however, very much like to kiss you before getting into any of… that.”

Crowley made a tiny fizzing noise then nodded frantically. “Sure… sure, yes, definitely,” he blurted. “Kissing. Great.”

Aziraphale just _beamed_ and then reached up cradled his face with one hand. Crowley made another fizzing noise and then Aziraphale’s lips were on his. The kiss was soft and gentle and tender and Crowley _melted_ into it, clutching at Aziraphale’s shoulders as his knees threatened to give out from underneath him. Aziraphale took that as permission to deepen the kiss and Crowley just gave himself over to it, returning the kiss with everything he had.

Neither of them were sure how long they stayed like that[5], leaning into each other and kissing, and neither of them really cared. When they finally parted just far enough to rest their foreheads together, Crowley felt a sort of peace he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. From the look on Aziraphale’s face, he felt much the same.

“That was just lovely,” Aziraphale finally murmured.

Crowley swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he managed.

“Shall we take this back to the couch?”

Crowley nodded again and after a few minutes of just standing there and swaying slightly, they finally got themselves coordinated enough to stumble back to the couch. They almost fell onto it, Aziraphale half-blanketing Crowley with a solid weight that nearly made his eyes roll back in his head. He clutched at the angel and pulled him further on top of him before capturing his mouth again. If they were to spend the rest of time right here like this, he wouldn’t object at all.

* * *

1 The deliveryman, Leslie, had an innate sense for which pronouns he ought to be using for the recipient of his deliveries, which was one of the reasons why he was recruited for his position in the first place. It was very accurate but Aziraphale threw that sense out of whack. It wasn’t the first time it had happened – DEATH had been something of a doozy – but it was always mildly disconcerting for him.[return to text]

2 Leslie tries not to think too much about the people he delivers packages to. He learned a long time ago that it was best not to after a couple of questions to his boss got him answers that made his head hurt. He _knows_ who or what they are but he just doesn’t _think_ about it.[return to text]

3 Had the package been for anyone else Crowley would have already opened it. (Why? Demon. What else?) But because it was for Aziraphale, he refrained. Not that he thought Aziraphale would be angry at him for doing so, but he knew the angel liked surprises. He would never dream of taking away that sort of fun. Even in this situation, where there was an equal likelihood of it not being much fun at all.[return to text]

4 Aziraphale knew this from experience, and the less said about that mortifying incident, the better. Aziraphale was very clever but sometimes he could be just a little bit dense and he’d forgotten that a tailor expects certain things to be in certain places when he measures a gentleman’s inseam. Thankfully, a little memory modification and a quick Effort smoothed all of that over.[return to text]

5 It was a while. Quite a while. There are some advantages to not actually needing to breathe.[return to text]


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A demon is kidnapped, prophecies are revealed and it's an angel to the rescue!

In the weeks, then months that followed, Crowley and Aziraphale spent more and more time together, until Crowley’s flat was really more of a place he stored things than a place where he lived. It had always been a bit like that, but it was far more pronounced these days, mostly because the plants were gone, having been moved one by one over to the bookshop and the apartment above it. Aziraphale mildly disapproved of the way he shouted at them but they’d also been getting encouragement from the angel, so Crowley felt they needed to be reminded of the way things should be.

Aziraphale had even miracled a bed into the bedroom for him. Crowley had refrained from asking what had been in there before because he was fairly sure he knew the answer to that[1]. The bed had been very… _Aziraphale_. Large, extremely comfortable, an abundance of pillows and blankets, all soft and plush. He adored it. He’d adored it even more when he coaxed Aziraphale into it to do all sorts of lovely and occasionally unspeakable things with each other. They’d even slept there as well.

All in all, Crowley was actually happy. Not that he’d ever admit to that. Demons weren’t meant to be _happy_ and yet, there he was. In hindsight, that was probably when he should have realised that something was about to go horribly wrong. That was _always_ the time when things went wrong.

He should have taken the Bentley. While what was about to happen would still have happened, it would have happened differently, perhaps, when Aziraphale was around. But then, Agnes was involved, so it could just as easily be said that everything went how it was supposed to go.

Crowley was sauntering along the street, heading for his favourite upscale wine merchants, hoping to find something interesting for their six month anniversary[2]. He was thinking something French and old and what Aziraphale’s reaction might be and thus he completely missed the way the other pedestrians suddenly stopped moving. He didn’t, however, miss the blow to the back of his head, though what came afterwards was lost on him because he was unconscious.

He came around to the feeling of pain thudding its way through his head and the distinct sensation that something was terribly, horribly wrong. He pried one eye open and was nearly blinded by a pristine white floor. That sent a shiver through him that did a great deal to make him more alert, but he was careful not to raise his head or give any other indication that he was awake, especially when he heard footsteps approaching.

“You got him, then,” said Gabriel in an insufferably pleased tone. “Was there any trouble?”

“None,” Michael said smugly. He heard her sneer. “He didn’t even realise we were there.”

“Well, he’s a demon,” Gabriel said condescendingly. “We can’t expect anything good out of them.”

Michael chuckled. “Of course.”

There was a moment of silence before Gabriel spoke again. “Shouldn’t he be awake by now?”

“Sandalphon hit him quite hard,” Michael replied, their tone uncaring. “We had to be sure, after all.”

Gabriel made a noise that indicated his understanding. “Well, we’ll come back in a bit.”

Crowley waited until the door had closed and their footsteps had faded into the distance before he raised his head just enough to look around to see if there was a guard in the room. There wasn’t, so he forced himself to sit up as best as he could with the way he was tied to the chair. That was when he realised that the pain he was feeling wasn’t just coming from the knock over the head.

He was in one of Heaven’s interrogation rooms, something he’d heard about from some of the other demons back in the day but never actually seen. There was some sort of force or power emanating from the walls, the floor, even the ceiling that just _hurt_. Not a sharp pain but a low level ache that wouldn’t _go away_ , no matter what he did. What was worse, not a single one of his powers was working, not even enough to make his headache stop.

He considered the matter for a moment, then said one word very firmly and with a great deal of feeling.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

*****

Aziraphale had spent the day puttering around in his book shop, mostly pretending to dust[3] before getting distracted by a couple of first editions he didn’t recall buying. At that point, he felt compelled to set his duster aside and work out whether he’d simply forgotten that he’d bought them, or whether they were something Adam had inadvertently gifted him when he’d restored the shop. He lost track of time doing that, and it was only when it started getting dark that he realised that Crowley wasn’t back.

He knew it was their six month anniversary, of course. He hadn’t said anything, since Crowley liked to pretend that he was above all of that sort of thing, but he knew that Crowley had plans. His little outing today had something to do with that. Normally, he would have accompanied Crowley, but he’d deliberately stayed back this time, not wanting to spoil whatever surprise Crowley was planning.

He checked his pocket watch and frowned. It was close to 7pm and he was fairly certain that Crowley had arranged for a table to be free at the Ritz at 7.30pm. He hurried over to the door, and saw that the Bentley was still parked out the front of the shop. He closed his eyes and reached out with his angelic senses, but there was no sign of Crowley in the shop or the apartment above. He couldn’t sense him anywhere nearby.

Aziraphale’s frown deepened, and he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. He went back to his desk and picked up his phone, dialling Crowley’s mobile phone number. It rang out. He tried it again and then for a third time as a sense of trepidation grew within him. He called Crowley’s apartment and when he didn’t get an answer there, he set his phone down with a thump.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

He leaned against his desk and went very still as he tried to decide what he should do. As he did, an envelope slid out of one of the drawers above his desk and fell onto his hand.[4] He gave a start and picked it up, staring blankly at the name on the front until it suddenly sank in.

“The prophecies!” he yelped. “It’s six months, and…”

His eyes widened. It was exactly six months to the day since the world hadn’t ended. Exactly when Agnes had said he should read her prophecies. And since it was Agnes who had said that, he was sure that Crowley going missing on the same day couldn’t be a coincidence.

The prophecies were in the safe in Crowley’s flat and normally Aziraphale would be more delicate about retrieving them, but under the circumstances, he didn’t think Crowley would mind. So he gave a click of his fingers and brought the chest from the safe to his desk. He quickly opened it and pulled out the wrapped bundle of parchment. A flick of his fingers sent the chest to the floor and unwrapped the bundle.

He sat down in front of the prophecies. Normally, this would have been a moment of great anticipation, now he only felt a vague sense of dread. He turned over the front page and stared at the first of the prophecies. When he read it, he gasped.

_And once the Truthe hath been spoken, then shall the Angel take the Demon into his arms and speak Words of Love. And in doing so shall Events be set in motion and they may Notte be turned aside._

“Events?” he muttered, studiously ignoring the first part of the prophecy even though it made him blush. Now was not, however, the time for those sorts of thoughts. “What Events?”

He continued reading with a growing frown. Most of the initial prophecies seemed to have little to do with either him, Crowley or anyone else they knew but then he hit Prophecy 36:

_When half a year hath passed, the serpent shalle be taken by the Light and the Principality shalle be revealed for the truth of what he is._

Aziraphale stared at the prophecy with horror. _The serpent shalle be taken by the Light_. There could surely only be one meaning behind that phrase. Heaven had kidnapped Crowley.[5]

Aziraphale would be the first to admit that he was _soft_. He liked his luxuries and his bookshop and his nice comfortable life. He wasn’t fond of violence or anger or any of that sort of thing. But if Aziraphale personified anything, it was most definitely the phrase ‘It’s _always_ the quiet ones’. He was certainly the last person you wanted to push over the edge and this was coming perilously close to doing just that.

His chair clattered behind him as he shoved it backwards and stood. He straightened his coat and tie and headed for the door with an expression on his face that did not bode well for anyone caught on the other end of it. The door opened before he got there and locked behind him with barely a thought. In a strange coincidence, the crowd on the streets parted around him and allowed him to make excellent time to the London entrance to Heaven. For once, as he stood on the escalator going upwards, he did not feel even the slightest hint of nerves.

Not that he really knew what he was going to do, just that he did not intend to leave Heaven without Crowley.

There was no one waiting for him when he got to the large foyer and he felt rather glad about that. For all his determination, he wasn’t quite ready to be challenged just yet. He looked around with a frown and tried to figure out where Crowley would be being held. As he did, he saw movement in the distance and he ducked behind one of the large white square pillars as the angels approached.

“Isn’t Gabriel concerned that Aziraphale will interfere?”

It was Uriel. A moment later, the other angel replied and Aziraphale recognised Sandalphon’s voice.

“No, we’ll be done with the demon before Aziraphale notices anything and he won’t dare come up here after that… that _travesty_.” Sandalphon gave a nasty laugh. “Besides, he’s a Principality. What could he do against Gabriel and Michael?”

Both of them laughed and Aziraphale was caught between fury and fear as they passed out of earshot. It was a combination of ‘how dare they treat _my_ demon like that?’ and ‘oh dear, what _am_ I supposed to do against _two_ Archangels?’. But the conversation had been enough that Aziraphale could take a very good guess where they must be holding Crowley now that he had the confirmation that he was here. The interrogation rooms hadn’t been used since the Fall and God knew Aziraphale had never been in them before on either side of the equation. He did know where they were. Once he was sure Uriel and Sandalphon were gone, he crept out from behind the pillar and hurried towards the door that would take him to where he needed to go.

******

His powers were definitely gone. Or rather, not gone but stifled and repressed to the point where he could barely feel them. No matter what he did or tried, Crowley couldn’t do a damn thing with them. He concentrated on being angry and frustrated about that rather than thinking about it in any depth. If he started thinking about it, he would have to admit to being terrified and he wasn’t about to let Heaven think they had him scared.[6]

When the door began to open, he stopped struggling against his bonds and slouched down into as much of an insouciant pose as the ropes allowed him. The moment he saw Gabriel and Michael, he yawned and raised a casual eyebrow.

“Michael, _dude_ , long time, no see. Oh wait,” he drawled and knew he’d matched Aziraphale’s little performance as him when Michael twitched and scowled at him. “And Gabriel! Nice suit. Makes you look a little wide around the hips.”

He smirked as Gabriel looked down at himself with a frown. Aziraphale had told him about the ‘lose the gut’ comment from the Archangel and he’d been furious. He liked Aziraphale just how he was – soft and a little squidgy. He looked beautiful and he absolutely _didn’t_ need to lose the gut.

“You talk very big for someone in your position,” Michael snapped, their lips pursed in displeasure.

“Indeed you do,” Gabriel said with that false _bonhomie_ that set Crowley’s teeth on edge. “But you’ll be talking about something more interesting soon enough.”

“Can’t imagine what I might know that would be of interest to you lot,” Crowley replied, finding an extra inch of slouch and putting it to good use. “Unless you want to know what Beezlebub has for breakfast?”

Gabriel looked intrigued then he gave a hearty and very fake laugh. “Ha! Very good.” He leaned forward and his expression abruptly became hard and calculating. “But you’re not going to distract me. Now, tell me, how did he do it? Aziraphale. What did you teach him that allowed him to withstand the hellfire?”

Crowley wanted to swear.[7] He should have guessed that _someone_ was going to ask questions about how they might have done that. At least they hadn’t guessed what they’d actually done. One small mercy.

“You don’t really think I’m going to tell you?” he said with as much lazy amusement as he could muster.

Gabriel smirked. “Oh, I think you will. Michael.”

The Archangel closed their eyes and the intensity of whatever force or power infused the room increased. Crowley’s lips thinned as the ache became a low, constant throb of true pain but he managed to maintain his casual slouch and raised an eyebrow in a small display of bravado.

“Please. _Guys_ ,” he said in a condescending tone. “I Fell into a pool of burning sulphur. What makes you think you can intimidate me?”

He took the sudden defensive hunch of their shoulders as a minor victory, probably as much of one as he was going to get from here on in. But it was nice to remind them of what he had once been and that – without too much irony – there but for the Grace of God went the pair of them.

“Michael,” Gabriel snapped and the pain Crowley was feeling ratcheted up another notch. He managed to control the breath he’d wanted to suck in and a sinking feeling began growing in his chest. He was surprised to find that he wasn’t as scared for himself, as much he probably ought to be. Instead, he was more scared for what was going to happen to Aziraphale once they were done with him. From the look on their faces, he might not be around to find out or help his angel and that, in the end, scared him more than any of the rest of it.

* * *

1 Books. Lots of books. Obviously.[return to text]

2 Crowley absolutely celebrates things like six month anniversaries. He never thought he’d get such a thing so you’d better be sure he’s going to indulge in every silly, whimsical anniversary and holiday and celebration he can. He won’t admit what he’s doing but he knows Aziraphale will know anyway and will indulge him.[return to text]

3 He didn’t really need to dust since any dust could be easily miracled away but it was the sort of thing he fancied a man in his position should be doing. Much like the spectacles he didn’t need to wear, he often did things just for the aesthetic.[return to text]

4 No, not a coincidence. Someone was meddling. You know who She is.[return to text]

5 Aziraphale conveniently forgot to think about the second part of the prophecy, partly because he didn’t know what it meant and partly because he didn’t _want_ to know what it meant. He was quite comfortable how he was and whatever truth was to be revealed was something he wasn’t sure he’d like.[return to text]

6 He was though. Like many people with power, it’s very much a case of you don’t know what you’ve got until its gone. Crowley’s never really used his powers for much more than minor annoyances (and a few little demonic miracles for Aziraphale) but they’ve always been there. Not having them is, unsurprisingly, terrifying.[return to text]

7 He would have. It was, on the surface, the perfect time for swearing. But even Crowley knew that there was a time and a place for everything and swearing right now would likely be seen as either a sign of weakness or that they’d hit the nail on the head.[return to text]


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations occur, God is amused and a rescue is completed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the art! Isn't it gorgeous. [Ami V Dragnire](https://ami-v-dragnire.tumblr.com/) is amazing.

It was the scream that told Aziraphale that he was in the right place. He couldn’t say he’d ever heard that scream before, but he knew the voice making it. He’d spent 6000 years listening to that voice and he knew right here and now that if they managed to have another 6000 years, he would do _anything_ and _everything_ to ensure he never heard Crowley scream again.

His strides lengthened. He whipped around the corner to see a young angel standing guard in front of a door about halfway down the corridor. Aziraphale didn’t slow down, and by the time the angel saw him, he was only a few feet away. The angel raised his sword instinctively at the look on Aziraphale’s face, but didn’t get very far.

Aziraphale didn’t hesitate to snatch the sword out of the angel’s hand, and a mere thought had it bursting into flames. He hefted it a bit, noting with a part of his mind that had been slumbering for over 6000 years the difference in its weight and balance from the sword he’d once been issued. He looked at the angel cowering in front of him.

“I suggest you leave,” he said, his tone implacable but not unkind.[1] “It would be for the best.”

The angel looked torn between his duty and the reality of the Principality in front of him, flaming sword in hand, then he nodded and scurried away. Aziraphale didn’t watch him go. He squared his shoulders, raised his head defiantly and prayed briefly to a God who might or might not be listening and who might or might not be on his side[2]. He then opened the door and stepped inside.

The sight inside horrified him and, at the same time, sent a line of steel down his spine. Crowley was bound to a chair that had been bolted to the floor. He was slumped to one side, barely conscious, and yet there were also signs, tiny twitches and flinches, that showed he was still in incredible pain. At first, Aziraphale thought he might actually be unconscious but there was a thin sliver of yellow visible in his eyes and the barest turn of his head when the door had opened that proved he was still at least partially alert.

Also in the room were Gabriel and Michael and never before had Aziraphale wanted to wipe the smug, self-righteous looks off their faces more than he did right now. The two Archangels had turned when the door opened and were staring at him with surprise and, in Gabriel’s case, a growing expression of disdain and disapproval. Aziraphale found himself, for the first time ever, not caring one jot what Gabriel thought of him.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said with such smug, self-satisfied, faux bonhomie that the sword in Aziraphale’s hand flared brighter with his sudden anger.[3] Gabriel blinked and hesitated for a moment but then seemed to remember that he was an Archangel and a hard, mean look appeared in his eyes. “What a surprise.”

“Yes, I’d imagine it is,” Aziraphale said tightly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like my… my demon back.”

Michael’s lips curled in a sneer. “You don’t even bother to deny it.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard then raised his chin in another defiant motion. “Why should I? It’s not _you_ I have to please anymore. Only _Her_.”

“She’ll see you Fall for this,” Michael hissed as Gabriel nodded sagely.

The only sign of Aziraphale’s fear that Michael’s words were true was the faint wobble of his bottom lip, something only Crowley would really have recognised for what it was. “So be it,” he said firmly. “If that is what She wants, then I will accept it.”

Both Gabriel and Michael’s eyes widened and expressions of sheer disbelief flickered across their faces.

“You can’t…” Gabriel spluttered, unable to even fathom the idea that an angel would willingly Fall. “For a _demon_?”

“For Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He took a step forward and hefted the flaming sword a fraction. “Now step aside, please. I am taking Crowley home.”

Gabriel puffed up with indignation. “Now, see here, Sonny Jim, I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. I am the Archangel Gabriel and _you_ don’t tell _me_ to do anything.”

Just as the last word left his lips, a sense of _**POWER**_ flooded into the room that made all four beings cry out and shield their eyes in one way or another. Aziraphale felt something very much like a hand being laid upon his head and a voice rang out through the room.[4]

“For six millennia, I have hidden your true nature from all, even from yourself. Now shed the mantle of disguise and take up your true form. It shall be needed, now and in the future.”

The _**POWER**_ faded along with the echoes of the voice, leaving them all stunned. Gabriel and Michael were the first to recover and they straightened, looking shaken and confused. The angels all knew that voice, as too did the demon in the room. It had been millennia since God had last truly spoken to them. Now that She had once again, they did not understand what she had said.

Then they looked over at Aziraphale.

The Principality stood transfixed, his eyes raised to a point high in the room and the now dormant sword held loosely in one hand. As they watched, he started to rise into the air and then he began to glow. Wings manifested, not one set as they’d all been expecting but two sets – four pristine white wings that flared and revealed golden tips to the primaries and secondaries and along the leading edges. Eyes appeared next, along the wings, on Aziraphale’s face, everywhere really – more eyes than were entirely necessary in most instances – and they began to open.

Aziraphale’s head now lowered to look at Gabriel and Michael, his eyes glowing white. As they stared in shock, three more heads unfolded around Aziraphale’s human head and revealed themselves. One head a lion’s, one an ox’s and the third an eagle’s. His body shimmered until it was clad in a simple white robe, but there was a leonine blur at the edges, as though he was holding onto a mostly human form by sheer will.[5] The sword in his hand burst into flame once more, bright and searing.

Michael reached out to grasp Gabriel’s arm in a painful clawing motion. “He is one of the Cherubim,” they gasped. “How?”

“Stand aside,” Aziraphale the cherub said, his voice echoing and rolling around the room as all four heads spoke in unison. More eyes began opening everywhere on his body, adding to the eldritch air in the room. “Do not force me to cut you down.”

As before, when he’d spoken to the angel outside the room, his tone was implacable but not unkind.[6]

******

Crowley had wanted to cry out in fear and desperation when Aziraphale had burst into the room. The last thing he’d wanted was for his angel to be caught up in this, to die here, where he would have to watch. He would have struggled, called out, spat curses and blasphemy if he’d been able to, but the force in the room and the pain that it was causing had been raised to a level where he was barely able to hold onto consciousness, let alone do anything else.

He’d have cried real tears of joy and delight at Aziraphale’s staunch words if he hadn’t been caught in a maelstrom of fear and pain[7] and it wasn’t until the other _**POWER**_ washed over him, easing some of the pain, that he was able to raise his head.

He found himself _yearning_ despite his best efforts towards the voice that he recognised, the voice he’d last heard speak when he’d been cast out of Heaven and never since. A voice that was, as it turned out, talking to and about _Aziraphale_.

He watched in awe as Aziraphale rose and hovered in the air, as his wings and heads unfurled to reveal him as a one of the Cherubim, not a Principality as they’d all thought. And from what God had said, even Aziraphale hadn’t known that. Then the power of the cherub hit him, and he gasped and flinched away as best as he could. It burned and made him cry out and he closed his eyes against the pain.

“Stand aside,” he heard Aziraphale say in a voice he’d never heard before. “Do not force me to cut you down.”

Any other time he’d have laughed at those words being said to Gabriel, laughed and sneered and smirked, but now he could only shake in fear and pain. It took almost everything he had to turn his head and look at what was happening.

Aziraphale… the _cherub_ … he had no idea if this was still the Aziraphale he knew and… and loved… took a step forward, the flaming sword gripped in one hand and the other hand raised as if in benediction. Though, from the way Gabriel and Michael cringed away, fearful and afraid, there was no benediction to be had if that hand were to touch them. At least not one that would leave them standing.

“Stand aside,” the cherub said again. “The demon Crowley is mine.”

For a moment, Crowley thought Gabriel and Michael would stand against the cherub and he wondered if two Archangels could hold their own against even a cherub’s power. But then they bowed their heads in surrender and scurried over to press themselves against the wall. Michael refused to raise their head but Gabriel glared at the cherub in impotent, frustrated rage.

Crowley cringed as the cherub approached him and the moment he did, that sense of overwhelming, terrifying power faded a little and the human face of the cherub crumpled into the familiar worried expression he knew so well.

“Crowley dearest,” the cherub breathed, one hand reaching out to cradle Crowley’s cheek even as the other reduced the ropes binding him to nothing. “Can you stand?”

Crowley stared into the cherub’s eyes and then he let out a gasping sob. That was _Aziraphale_ looking at him, _his_ Aziraphale, not some impersonal, incalculable cherub. “ _Angel_ ,” he slurred. “Hurts.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything. He simply discarded the sword he was holding and scooped Crowley up into his arms. It should have been terrifying, painful, any number of other frightening things – a demon being held by a cherub – but the only thing Crowley really felt beyond the pain and oppression of the room was… love. He felt so unbelievably and utterly _loved_ and it was enough to make him gasp and sob and turn his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder.[8]

([Click here](https://ami-v-dragnire.tumblr.com/post/190390801679/it-should-have-been-terrifying-painful-any) for a larger image)

The relief when he was carried out of the room was indescribable. The absence of pain was almost as shocking as the pain itself. He curled into Aziraphale’s warmth, as much for the comfort as to avoid confronting the reality of what Aziraphale was a little longer. There was a brief sense of power, of a miracle being performed, then the familiar smells and sounds of the apartment over bookshop surrounded him and he was deposited very gently onto a soft, familiar bed. 

He uncurled and looked over at Aziraphale just in time to watch the transformation from cherub back to the angel he had known for over 6 millennia. It was a slow process, and from the way Aziraphale winced and twitched, not a particularly comfortable one. When he was done, he stood, trembling slightly and breathing deeply, before finally raising his head to look over at Crowley.

Aziraphale licked his lips and wrung his hands, the absolute picture of awkwardness. “Well,” he finally said.

Crowley nodded slowly. “So. That’s a thing,” he said before he let himself sink into darkness.

* * *

1 The angel found that tone from Aziraphale more frightening than Gabriel at his angriest. It spoke volumes about how, if he interfered, Aziraphale would… deal with him. The Principality wouldn’t like it or be happy about it but it _would_ be done. Implacability has always been far more terrifying than anger.[return to text]

2 She was, on both counts.[return to text]

3 Aziraphale hadn’t realised until that moment just how much he _despised_ that overly cheerful tone of Gabriel’s. He knew he shouldn’t despise something so trivial but he didn’t think anyone would mind. It also led to a stray thought of whether Mary had hated it as well.[return to text]

4 God is not above a bit of dramatic tension. She doesn’t get that much entertainment these days and, as such, She takes whatever opportunities are presented to Her.[return to text]

5 One does not spend 6000 years in human form without becoming at least somewhat attached to it. And Aziraphale has always been _particularly_ fond of his human form.[return to text]

6 That tone was even more terrifying coming from a Cherub in (almost) all of his glory than it had been from an angry and worried Principality. The implacable had gone up at an exponential level and the kindness was enough to send an Archangel to their knees.[return to text]

7 ‘Mine’ and ‘home’ were things he’d wanted to hear from Aziraphale for more years than he cared to admit and while he normally would have denied any and all kinds of soft emotions, in this case and in these circumstances, he was willing to make an exception.[return to text]

8 It wasn’t that Crowley wanted to doubt Aziraphale’s feelings but more than he’d spent so many years (millennia) being rejected and held at arm’s length that he couldn’t help but wonder when it would be _enough_ , when it would be _too much_ , and he’d be left behind yet again. But there was no doubting this feeling of love and no denying that it came from the angel.[return to text]


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always an aftermath.

Aziraphale sat in his armchair and fiddled with his signet ring as he kept an eye on Crowley. He’d discarded his coat and waistcoat and sat in his shirtsleeves. The demon was sleeping quite peacefully in their bed, and Aziraphale had already checked to ensure that any damage done by the interrogation room was healing itself. In more ordinary times, he would have picked up a book and started reading, but he couldn’t have concentrated on even his most favourite book right now.

He was a cherub. That was quite the turn up for the books. He didn’t know what to make of it. Even more, he didn’t know what to make of the fact that he hadn’t remembered until that moment in the interrogation room, when God had revealed it to all of them.[1] What made it seem just a little worse was that he had a large collection of bibles, albeit bibles with errors of varying descriptions, and he’d read all of them. He couldn’t put a number on the times he’d read Genesis in both the original Aramaic and its various translations. He’d somehow always thought that the description of the angel of the Eastern Gate in those bibles was of the angel assigned _after_ he was sent to keep an eye on the humans.

Except there had never _been_ an angel assigned to the Eastern Gate after him. He’d retained that title even after the Garden had been abandoned.

In almost every version of the bible he’d read, Genesis said that it was a cherub who had been given the flaming sword and assigned to the Eastern Gate. He’d thought it was an error. Humans did like to exaggerate about these sorts of things, and cherub was certainly more imposing than a mere Principality. But… it couldn’t _possibly_ be true. He _was_ a mere Principality.

Except he wasn’t. He was a cherub. He counted among the second highest rank of God’s angels, with only the Seraphim above.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale gave a start at that tired, weary whisper and turned to Crowley. The demon was still curled up on the bed but now his eyes were just barely open, enough to see they were entirely serpentine, instead of just being confined to the pupil

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “Crowley,” he murmured, getting up and kneeling next to the bed. He reached out to run a hand through Crowley’s hair but stopped before he touched the demon. “How are you feeling, darling?” he said rather awkwardly.

Crowley made a small indistinct noise and tilted his head in a way that had Aziraphale continuing the journey his hand had started. He couldn’t hide the relief that tiny gesture from Crowley sent flooding through him. If Crowley was truly angry at him, he wouldn’t allow him to touch him at all[2] and certainly not an intimate, soothing touch.

He gently ran his hand through Crowley’s hair and smiled a little at the soft, contented hiss he got for the intimacy. They settled into silence for a moment and Aziraphale thought he might actually send Crowley back to sleep. But then the demon opened his eyes more fully. The yellow still stretched right across the sclera but there was no anger in there. Or worse, hurt and betrayal. Unfortunately, there were no softer emotions either, just a wary blankness. Aziraphale took heart from the fact he was allowed to touch.

“A cherub,” Crowley said with studied neutrality.

“So it seems,” Aziraphale said then he breathed out something that might have been a laugh or might have been a sob. “I never knew. How could I forget something like that, Crowley?”

Crowley started at him intently for a long, horrible moment then the tension drained out of him. He reached out for Aziraphale, grabbing hold of his shirt and dragging him onto the bed. There was an awkward moment of arranging and rearranging themselves, then Aziraphale was lying on his back with Crowley was curled around him, head tucked under his chin.[3]

“I think we all heard the answer to that,” Crowley replied, now he was comfortable.

Aziraphale shuddered and Crowley entwined himself around the angel a little more.[4] “We did,” the angel said. “It’s the first time I’ve heard Her voice in… well, in millennia.”

Crowley grunted and nuzzled at Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You looked impressive.”

Now that some of his fretting had been assuaged, Aziraphale had started to think about more than whether or not he’d still have the demon in his life after this.

“I did?”

Crowley nodded. “Scared the Hell out of Gabriel and Michael.”

Aziraphale was silent. He supposed he had done just that, though Gabriel had looked as angry as he had scared. But he didn’t much care about them right now. “And… and you?” he asked, feeling his heart clench as he waited for the answer.

Crowley nuzzled his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder and breathed in his angel’s familiar scent. He could feel the apprehension coming off Aziraphale in waves, and it was that more than anything else that allowed him to hang onto his cool. Well, that and being so tired from the effects of the room.

“A bit, at first,” he admitted. He could practically hear Aziraphale’s face crumple above him so he hurried on. “But… only because I wasn’t sure if it was… well, _you_. You know, _you_ you. Or if you’d full on reverted to being a _cherub_. But then you looked at me and I saw _you_.” He raised his head and smiled feebly. “My fussy, spoiled angel.”

He was glad he’d raised his head, because the smile that broke out on Aziraphale’s face was well worth the effort. It was full of relief and love and sent waves of soft emotions flowing over Crowley, which in turn made some of the enduring aches left by the room fade into nothing.[5]

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale breathed. “My dearest one.”

Crowley wriggled with embarrassment and he knew he was blushing as well. “Shaddup.”

“I shan’t,” Aziraphale replied, cradling Crowley’s face with both hands. “I have always been yours. I _shall_ always be yours. Cherub or not.”

Crowley tried to scowl and grumble but it was a half-hearted effort at best. So instead, he wriggled and writhed until he was sprawled mostly on top of Aziraphale. The angel chuckled underneath him and wrapped his arms around him.

“How did you know?” Crowley asked after a few minutes of settling in again.

Aziraphale, who had been quite contentedly considering his demon and very firmly not thinking about his new/old status, blinked. “Pardon?”

“How did you know where I was?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale said. “Agnes Nutter’s new prophecies. I remembered what she said about waiting until… well, until today to read them. It was there. Prophecy 36. _When half a year hath passed, the serpent shalle be taken by the Light and the Principality shalle be revealed for the truth of what he is_.”

He grimaced. “I didn’t know what the second part meant at the time but the first was easy to figure out. After that, I overheard a conversation and… well, there weren’t many other places they were going to take you.” He hesitated and chewed on his lip. “What did they….? I mean, had they…?”

Crowley rocked his head from side to side. “Nope,” he said, his voice a little muffled due his face being pressed into Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder again. “They hadn’t figured out our little swap. They thought I’d taught you something that let you withstand hellfire.”

Aziraphale considered that. “Well, I suppose that’s true from a certain point of view.”

“S’pose,” Crowley said, his voice muffled. “Y’did figure it out.”

Aziraphale concentrated on running his hand up and down Crowley’s back, smiling fondly as each pass made Crowley melt just a little bit more. He was likely to send him back to sleep again, which wouldn’t be a bad thing. They’d had enough of a conversation that Aziraphale no longer felt like he had an executioner’s axe hanging over his head, and goodness knew Crowley could do with more sleep after all that had happened to him. Aziraphale drew in a deep breath, and as he let it out again slowly, both he and Crowley fell asleep.

* * *

1 And if he was trying to not think about the fact that God actually spoke directly to them and laid Her hand on him, well, that was understandable, surely? He hadn’t known She even did that sort of thing anymore.[return to text]

2 True blazing anger was the emotion that brought out the most snake-like tendencies in Crowley and he would strike swiftly and suddenly, whether it was with words or a weapon. Aziraphale had only once had that true anger directed at him (and the less said about that, the better) and he would go a very long way to avoid it happening ever again.[return to text]

3 This was one of their favourite positions and the reason why Aziraphale had discreetly miracled the couch that stood downstairs a little wider.[return to text]

4 In truth, Crowley was just as stunned by the revelation as Aziraphale. He was just a bit better at hanging onto his sangfroid in these sorts of circumstances. It came from taking credit for things he’d had no actual hand in. He’d learned to be very quick on his mental feet and never show that he’d been caught out when Hell came knocking. Or more accurately, he’d cultivated the sort of personality that meant he could babble a bit and mentally catch up without raising suspicions.[return to text]

5 Crowley was pretty sure Aziraphale didn’t know he was doing that but he wasn’t going to say anything. It felt good, like being wrapped up in the warmest, most loving hug that ever was. And it was all his.[return to text]


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath - part 2

Crowley was the first to wake the next morning and for a moment, he was completely disorientated, vague, amorphous shadows of his time in Heaven clinging to his sleep-soaked mind. It took prising one eye open and seeing a sleeping Aziraphale acting as his mattress to remind him of everything that had happened the previous day. He shuddered and buried his face back into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, breathing in the angel’s so familiar scent. He let it soothe him, as it always had, then raised his head again.

Aziraphale was still fast asleep, an unusual occurrence to be honest. Crowley was the sleeper of the two of them, though Aziraphale had taken up the habit since they’d moved their relationship to a more intimate footing. He still didn’t sleep much and Crowley usually woke in the morning to find the angel awake and reading, one hand either resting on some part of Crowley’s body or running through his hair. He liked the mornings where the latter happened the best. He’d always been soothed by Aziraphale running his hand through his hair, right from the very first time it happened[1].

The angel didn’t look any different. It was strange in a way. The reveal of his true rank had been so momentous that it felt like there should be something different about Aziraphale. There was nothing. Crowley wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but he supposed that it wasn’t something he could control. God had decided to both reveal Aziraphale’s true nature and keep Aziraphale the way he was.

“How are you feeling this morning, darling?”

Crowley looked down and saw that Aziraphale was awake. He went to move but Aziraphale quickly wrapped his arms around him. He settled back down and rested his chin on his hands.

“I’m fine.”

Aziraphale brushed his fingers’ along his cheek and Crowley leaned into his touch.

“Are you sure, dear? Those interrogation rooms are vile.”

Crowley nodded and leaned further into Aziraphale’s hand to make him continue. “M’good.” He cocked his head a little. “What did they say?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Who?”

“The prophecies. The new ones.”

“Oh. Those,” Aziraphale said, looking rather nervous. “I, uh… don’t recall.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”[2]

Aziraphale sighed and poked Crowley in the side. “I suppose if you’re going to insist, then you’d better get off me.”

Crowley grumbled but obediently slithered off him. Once they’d sorted themselves out and gotten dressed, Aziraphale led the way downstairs. Agnes Nutter’s new prophecies were sitting on his desk, precisely where he’d left them.

“I didn’t get very far,” Aziraphale said. “I only read far enough to find out what had happened to you, but read the first prophecy. Most of them don’t have anything to do with us but, that one…” He blushed. “That one does.”

Crowley flipped back through the pages until he got to the start. He quickly read the first prophecy[3] then blinked and read it again. “Ngk,” he said, his cheeks reddening.

Aziraphale ducked his head a little, looking at Crowley rather coyly. “Quite.”

Crowley cleared his throat. He cleared it again. Then he licked his lips before finally managing to speak. “What does it mean?”

“That prophecy?” Aziraphale said, his eyebrows raised.

Crowley made a few indistinct noise before pulling himself together a bit. “Not that. I got that. The whole thing. Agnes’ prophecies.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t know. I stopped reading after I got to prophecy 36, but it seems you were right. There will be something more.” His hands twitched as he reached towards the pages of the unbound book. “I really should…”

Crowley caught his hands. “Later.”

“What?” Aziraphale looked down at their joined hands, the blush spreading slowly across his cheeks even after six months of their relationship. He looked up again and saw the weariness still evident in Crowley’s eyes. “Oh, yes.” He ducked his head and smiled softly. “Perhaps we could curl up on the couch. I could make us some tea, and perhaps miracle up some of those shortbreads from the little café down the street?”

Crowley didn’t trust his voice and just nodded and let Aziraphale chivvy him around the bookshop and get them both settled down onto the couch, Crowley sprawled contentedly over the angel. He gave a sigh and did his best to relax when Aziraphale started running his hand through his hair. They both decided not to say anything about the teapot and its associated paraphernalia, or the plate of shortbreads that appeared on the table in front of them.

“Was thinking of growing it out again,” he murmured after an indeterminate period of time.

“Really?” Aziraphale said, his smile obviously in his voice. “How long?”

Crowley shrugged a little. “Don’t know.”

“Perhaps…”

Aziraphale fell silent for long enough that Crowley raised his head slightly to look at him. The angel had an indecisive expression on his face, like he wasn’t sure whether he should continue.

“What’s it?” Crowley muttered as little incoherently as he settled down again.

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment longer. “Well, perhaps you could grow it out like you had it when we met just before the flood. You looked so lovely with your hair that long.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to fall silent, though his had less to do with hesitation and a lot more to do with feeling discombobulated. He hadn’t known Aziraphale had cared all that much about his hair back then.

“Sure,” he said in a strangled voice. “Could do that.”

“Oh, really?”

Crowley could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice and he was sure that if he looked up, he’d see the same delighted expression on the angel’s face as when he’d agreed to make Hamlet popular. He’d do a lot more than a minor miracle to put that expression on Aziraphale’s face. It was one of his favourites.

“Yeah,” he said.

In the quiet that followed, he debated whether he should let it grow out mostly normally or just get it done quickly[4]. Mostly he was thinking about which Aziraphale would prefer. However, when he opened his mouth to ask, that wasn’t the question that came out.

“Do you think they’ll retaliate?”

The sigh that he felt as much as heard told him the question wasn’t unexpected. “Perhaps,” Aziraphale murmured. “Gabriel was very angry and I… challenged his authority rather profoundly.”

“But it was at, you know, God’s purpose and design.”

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale sounded pensive. “But Gabriel’s never been very good at accepting being thwarted. It’s not as though he can or would do anything against Her.”

Crowley burrowed a little closer. “You outrank him.”

“I… I do,” Aziraphale said in a whisper then he cleared his throat. “He wouldn’t come alone if he did.” He sighed again. “But I don’t think he will. It would be foolish. He may be angry, but he’s rarely foolish.”

Crowley made a dubious noise. He wasn’t quite so sanguine, and he wondered if Aziraphale really believed what he was saying. He always desperately wanted to believe in his fellow angels, though his faith had been shaken by the events leading up to the failed Armageddon. But had it been shaken enough?

“Still,” Aziraphale said after several minutes had passed. “I might strengthen the wards on the shop.” He made a pensive sound. “It would be a good way to test whether my miracles are any stronger.”

Crowley grunted. “Do you feel stronger?”

“Not really,” Aziraphale said. “But I wasn’t really paying attention up there. I was more concerned about you.”

Crowley wriggled in that way that said he was both pleased and embarrassed by the sentiment. Aziraphale chuckled and wrapped his arms around him. Crowley wriggled some more, grinning as the motion drew a sharp gasp from his angel.

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley liked how his name sounded when Aziraphale said it like that. He wriggled some more and grinned when the angel’s arms tightened around him even more.

“We’ve only just gotten up,” Aziraphale said, sounding very much like he was fighting a losing battle.

“Who says we have to go back to bed?” Crowley said, raising his head so that Aziraphale could get the full effect of his grin. “We’ve got tea and biscuits here.”

He could see the way Aziraphale was clearly torn between what he wanted to do and what he ought to do and gave another little wiggle, just to see whether he could derail his angel’s thought processes even more.

Aziraphale seemed to read all of that in his expression and gave him a look that entirely failed to be disapproving. “Crowley, you really are terribly wicked, tempting me like this.”

Crowley shrugged. “Demon. ‘Sides, when have my temptations ever worked on you.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, looking away a little coyly. “There are temptations and then there are temptations, if you know what I mean.”

Crowley snickered and wriggled his fingers underneath the angel’s waistcoat and shirt until he hit warm, smooth skin. “You mean if I’d tempted you with a little nookie millennia ago, I might have succeeded?” he said over Aziraphale’s sigh.

“You mean you weren’t?” Aziraphale replied, rather dryly.

Crowley frowned. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

Aziraphale ran a hand down his back soothingly and relented. “I know. You did always look rather fetching though.”

Crowley’s attempt to look down at himself didn’t quite work considering where he was. “I did? When?”

“All the time,” Aziraphale said with some exasperation. He softened and smiled. “Though if you’re asking for specific times I found you particularly breathtaking, I thought you looked lovely when we met in Golgotha, despite the circumstances. You looked very rakish when you came and rescued me in Paris, and in your suit, you know, the one when you rescued me from the Nazis?” He paused. “Oh, and remember when we spent those months in Florence in the 17th century, each of us working to thwart the other, and that lovely young couple duped both of us and ran off to elope? You quite took my breath away, every time I saw you.”

It took several minutes for Crowley to remember how to use words again after all of that.

“Wait,” he finally said. “Did you know I’d come and rescue you in Paris?”

Aziraphale looked away and pursed his lips, his cheeks turning a very fetching shade of pink. “Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly.”[5]

Crowley stared at him. “You did! What? Why? I might not have come!”

“You always do, dear,” Aziraphale said with a soft smile. “Of course I could have gotten myself out of there. Not even Gabriel would have chided me for a miracle to do that. But we hadn’t seen each other for such a long time and if somebody had noticed, I simply could have said that I was setting a trap for the demon who came up with the idea of… well, everything that was going on there.”

Crowley gaped at him then abruptly poked him in the side, making Aziraphale yelp and wriggle underneath him. It was very distracting, but not _that_ distracting. “You just wanted to have crepes with me?”

Aziraphale’s blush deepened. “Well… yes. It wasn’t like today. I couldn’t just call you up. And you were always so skittish if things delved too far into the personal.” He sighed. “I know I was worse but…” He smiled a little. “I hadn’t seen you in so long and I missed you.”

Crowley started to laugh. “You really are something, angel. What about the 1940s?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “No, that wasn’t a set up. We’d had that falling out, remember? Over the holy water.” They both winced at that reminder and there was a mutual unspoken decision not to speak about it anymore[6]. “But I was very glad you turned up when you did.” His smile turned slightly mischievous. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the statue from the church in your apartment.”

“Ngk,” Crowley began, flailing. “I… you know… it’s…”

Aziraphale cut off his babbling by drawing him down into a kiss, a tactic Crowley indicated his approval of by kissing back just as fervently. That occupied them for a goodly amount of time. Both very much liked kissing, and when they finally surfaced for air[7], Crowley was once again sprawled over Aziraphale like ganache on a cream cake. Their tea was miraculously still hot, and both were happy to set aside the topics of angry archangels, possible retaliation and looming prophecies in favour of sipping tea, lounging lazily and exchanging kisses until they decided to retire up to their bedroom.

* * *

1 Which wasn’t, as might be assumed, after the thwarted end of the world. It had, in fact, occurred five thousand years ago, after the flood had begun. Aziraphale had found him, deep in the bowels of Noah’s ark, amidst a tangle of children. He’d stared defiantly at the angel, daring him to do something, but Aziraphale had just smiled gently and sat down with them, entertaining the children with stories until they fell asleep. They’d mutually decided not to talk about the very large metaphorical elephant in the room, as opposed to the literal elephants at the other end of the hold, and when Crowley had finally started to doze off, his head dropping down onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, he'd felt the angel’s hand slowly, gently, slide through his hair. It had been comforting to know that for all his seemingly blind obedience to Heaven and God, the angel who had given his sword to the humans hadn’t truly changed.[return to text]

2 This was both true and untrue. Aziraphale was utterly terrible at lying when he didn’t _want_ to lie and truly superb at lying when he really _did_ want to conceal the truth. And he’d never _truly_ wanted to lie to Crowley.[return to text]

3 _And once the Truthe hath been spoken, then shall the Angel take the Demon into his arms and speak Words of Love. And in doing so shalle Events be set in motion and they may Notte be turned aside_ \- The Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Prophecy 1.[return to text]

4 Crowley mostly tended to grow it out in the normal way, but he wasn’t beyond cheating just a little a bit when it came to the speed every now and then. There were certain lengths that got a bit annoying, and he preferred to avoid those periods.[return to text]

5 Yes, he would, because that’s exactly what happened. Aziraphale was just surprised it took Crowley all this time to realise it.[return to text]

6 This was one of the strengths and weaknesses in their six millennia long friendship. They both had a pretty good grasp on what _not_ to talk about. Unfortunately, pretty good isn’t perfect, and sometimes a polite diversion of the conversation into something more palatable drifted into a failure to communicate, often for decades or centuries, that could range anywhere from comical to near catastrophic.[return to text]

7 Metaphorically speaking, since neither technically needed to breathe.[return to text]


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think Gabriel was going to let it go that easily, did you? Just as well Aziraphale isn't the only one with a surprise or two up his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! More gorgeous art from [Ami V Dragnire](https://ami-v-dragnire.tumblr.com/)!

As the weeks passed without any sign of retaliation or other interference from Gabriel or Michael – in fact, without so much as a peep from either Heaven _or_ Hell – both Aziraphale and Crowley began to relax. Aziraphale spent most of his time reading through Agnes’ prophecies, though he would reluctantly admit, if pressed, that many of them made little sense and probably wouldn’t until the time came when it was necessary to understand them. He also admitted that they probably made little sense because they weren’t about anyone he knew. He had, however, identified several prophecies that made specific mention of either himself or Crowley, and had copied them for further contemplation.

They’d also been down to Tadfield a few times to visit Anathema and Newt, as well as Adam and the Them. Crowley pretended to complain about those trips and Aziraphale subsequently pretended not to notice how much time Crowley spent with the children. Aziraphale himself quite enjoyed visiting with Anathema and Newt, both of whom had been a bit taken aback when he’d told them that Agnes had sent a copy of her new prophecies to him. Anathema had then laughed and said she shouldn’t be surprised. Agnes had been an exceptionally good prophet. Of course she’d have known Anathema would burn the copy she received.

Anathema had also been the cause of Aziraphale finally getting the hang of email. She still wasn’t sure she wanted to know about the prophecies as a whole, but she was intrigued. She’d finally settled on letting Aziraphale be the intermediary, thus allowing her to live her own life instead of being a professional descendent, but still keeping her hand in the game. She and Aziraphale had a lovely time emailing back and forth about the prophecies, speculating about what they might mean. Those emails lead into general chatting and before he knew it, Aziraphale was a dab hand with email[1].

Things came to a head, as things are wont to do, in the late summer, after the children had gone back to school. The weather had managed a last burst of heat, and when Aziraphale had suggested a trip to the seaside for a picnic, Crowley had shrugged and agreed. He didn’t much care what they did, as long as they were together. They’d driven down to East Sussex, where they’d found a secluded beach in a tiny cove and settled in.

“This is lovely,” Aziraphale said with a happy little wiggle as he unpacked a truly astonishing array of goodies from the picnic basket he’d brought along[2].

“Mmph,” Crowley replied as he stretched out his legs and raised his face to the sun. He had already discarded his glasses, since the angel had assured him that none of the locals would bother them. The little cove protected them from the cool breeze and he was enjoying the warmth, basking in it in a very serpentine fashion.

Aziraphale gave him a very affectionate look as he poured them each a glass of wine. He set Crowley’s wine glass in the sand beside him, ensuring that it couldn’t be knocked over or spill. “Here you are, dear.”

“Mmm,” Crowley hummed, wriggling his shoulders to get more comfortable. He was giving some very serious thought to having a nap. “S’it the red?”

For a moment, there was utter silence from Aziraphale and then he heard a low, worried, “Oh dear.”

Crowley opened his eyes and sat up. It wasn’t hard to miss what had prompted that from Aziraphale. He was kneeling in the sand, the bottle of wine held limply in one hand and a dropped slice of cake lying on the sand beside him. Standing over the angel, each with their own flaming sword in hand, were Gabriel and Michael. On either side of them, facing Crowley with the clear intention of keeping him at bay, were Uriel and Sandalphon. They’d obviously caught Aziraphale by surprise.

“Angel,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Aziraphale gave him a tight, tense frown. “Not without hurting you.”

Crowley snorted. “I’ll…” He jerked his head to the side. “Gimme a mo.”

“You can’t,” Aziraphale replied, his mouth an unhappy line. His eyes flickered to the side.

Crowley followed that motion and saw the angelic symbols glowing in the sand. His eyes widened slightly. His memories of his time as an angel were a little sketchy – something to do with the process of Falling, or so he’d been told – but he recognised them. He also recognised that they weren’t just designed to trap him. They would trap and limit Aziraphale as well, cherub or not. Temporarily, at least. A cherub should be able to overcome them, but it would take time and concentration, neither of which Aziraphale had at the moment.

Crowley’s gaze flickered between Aziraphale and the other angels. “Could you…?” he asked, nodding towards the glowing golden symbols.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale replied, confusion now joining all the other emotions on his face. “But I’d need…”

“Time, yeah,” Crowley replied, rising in a slow, menacing, sinuous manner. He turned his attention to the archangels. “Let him go.”

Gabriel snorted. “Are you trying to threaten us?”

Crowley’s smile was thin and lacked anything even remotely resembling humour[3]. Humans would have been running by now, and most demons would have been looking around nervously, wondering if they should do the same thing. The archangels didn’t seem to recognise the danger, though. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was giving him a look he could decipher easily. He wanted him to stay out of it and stay safe, but that wasn’t going to happen.

He had never really allowed Aziraphale to see what he was really like. Yes, the angel had seen his snake form and that was, indeed, very much who and what he was but there was more. He was, after all, a demon and while he probably wasn’t the most enthusiastic demon or really inclined to anything more than mischief and petty annoyances, that didn’t change what had become of him after he Fell. He’d never felt the need to show that to Aziraphale. The angel had always known what he was and had never faulted him for it, Go… Sa… _Someone_ knew why. But he figured if he wasn’t going to falter in the face of Aziraphale being a cherub, he was pretty sure Aziraphale wasn’t going to falter in the face of Crowley letting his demonic nature shine through.

He straightened a bit further and released his wings, letting them stretch out in all their midnight glory in a full threat gesture and display. As he did, he relaxed the hold he had on his demonic nature and… _changed_.

It wasn’t that he looked demonic now, like Satan had at the Tadfield airbase. He didn’t look all that different at all. Even with his black wings spread in a threatening gesture and his posture having lost all its usual languid, serpentine nature, he shouldn’t have been all that frightening. And yet. And yet there was something about him, something somehow more Crowley than normal about him that sent a shiver down the spines of the Archangels[4].

He took a step forward and when that prompted Uriel and Sandalphon to take an inadvertent step backwards, he let a cold, unforgiving, _unsettling_ smile grow on his face again.

“Stay back, demon,” Gabriel said, brandishing his sword threateningly.

Crowley laughed and the sky dimmed and shuddered as he did. “What makes you think I obey _angels_?”

He took another step forward, his wings flaring a bit more. He gathered darkness around him and had the pleasure of immediately gaining Gabriel and Michael’s full attention. Uriel and Sandalphon backed off even further. He took a third step. Flames crackled around his feet, turning the sand to glass underneath them. That seemed to rattle even Gabriel and both he and Michael backed away. And just at that moment, only Crowley was paying any attention to Aziraphale.

The angel – _cherub_ – had closed his eyes where he knelt and though he was still very much _Aziraphale_ , hints of his true nature started to shine through. Eyes began opening, one by one, and the very air around him began to shimmer with power. 

Crowley took another step forward to keep the eyes of the Archangels on him. “You were told the stay away from us,” he said, shadows and fire to dripping from the feathers of his wings[5].

“You can’t give us orders, demon,” Gabriel blustered, waggling the sword in his hand. Crowley was reminded of how Aziraphale held that sword, all discomfort and unease and yet with a competence that told the onlooker that while the angel might not _want_ to use the sword, he could and would if he had to, and would do so with great effect and skill. The contrast was almost laughable.

“Perhaps he can’t,” a great Voice echoed across the sand. “But I can.”

  
([Click here](https://ami-v-dragnire.tumblr.com/post/190391773965/perhaps-he-cant-a-great-voice-echoed-across) for larger images)

Crowley didn’t need to look to know that the Presence at his side was a cherub whom he loved dearly. Aziraphale must be exerting a great deal of power, because though the air shimmered with holiness, it wasn’t hurting him.

“Begone,” Aziraphale commanded. Uriel and Sandalphon disappeared immediately, both looking rather surprised that they could be so easily compelled. Gabriel and Michael flinched and resisted.

“You can’t do this,” Michael said, sounding shrill and fearful. “For a _demon_?”

“For Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “BEGONE!”

Aziraphale’s Command rolled across the beach and swept away the Archangels, their swords and the symbols marked on the sand, leaving behind an echoing silence. The sound of the waves lapping gently against the shore brought them both back to reality.

Crowley turned to face Aziraphale, letting his demonic façade fade away, just in time to see Aziraphale doing the same thing with his true nature. Once they were back to being themselves, they just stared at each other for a moment.

“Are you…?” Crowley began just as Aziraphale said, “I didn’t know…”

“After you,” Aziraphale said with a little polite gesture.

“Are you okay?”

Aziraphale nodded with a smile. “Yes, of course, dear.” He paused and looked a little worried. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Crowley rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Eh, wasn’t much. Just smoke and mirrors, mostly[6]. Put on a show and let ‘em draw their own conclusions.”

“Oh… yes.” Aziraphale didn’t look entirely convinced, but he also seemed inclined to let it go. He looked around. “Our picnic was rather ruined, wasn’t it?”

“Nope,” Crowley said. With a sudden burst of energy, he waved a hand and returned everything to how it had been[7]. “You wanted a picnic, and we’re having a picnic.”

Aziraphale gave him a look of amused affection that made him blush before saying, “Thank you, love.”

“Ngk,” Crowley managed, before sprawling out where he had been before and letting the warmth of the sun start to soothe him once more.

It took a bit more of an effort to get things back on track, but it wasn’t long before Aziraphale was lounging next to him and making all those little noises of appreciation that he just adored hearing. He doubted this was the last they’d heard of Heaven, but for now it seemed that they’d put the fear of both Crowley and Aziraphale into them. Maybe it would last long enough for Gabriel to get over it or get distracted by something else. That was really all they could ask for.

Crowley shifted onto his side so he could drink his wine and watch Aziraphale with undisguised adoration. Aziraphale was clearly aware of his regard because he smiled and pink stained his cheeks.

“Reckon Agnes knew about this?” he said when it looked like Aziraphale was going to say something about the way he was looking at him.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, frowning slightly as he was successfully distracted. “I don’t recall reading anything about it, which is odd. You’d think she’d consider this significant.”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe not. You seem more… comfortable with the... you know, cherub thing.”

Aziraphale blinked. “I… suppose I am. It didn’t occur to me to worry about it when they were threatening you.”

Crowley gave him a long, disbelieving look. “Angel, you were the one who had a sword at his throat.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t have killed me,” Aziraphale said. “It would have discorporated me, which would have been awfully inconvenient under the circumstances. But that’s not the point.” He took a breath. “They weren’t really threatening me, they were threatening you, and I was not going to have that. I really was not.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, a tiny smile playing around his lips. “Really, angel?”

Aziraphale blushed. “Erm, well… yes.” He stared at the ocean pensively. “I think it’s just as well we’re _both_ becoming more comfortable with what we really are.” He turned back to Crowley. “Because according to Agnes, we’re going to need that.”

A shiver ran down Crowley’s spine but he firmly dismissed it and picked up his wine glass. He held it up in a toast. “To Agnes, then.”

Aziraphale smiled. “To Agnes. And, to us.”

They clinked glasses and Crowley took a long swig of his wine. He had his angel and he was happy. Whatever Agnes’ prophecies, Heaven, or Hell might bring them was in the future and would be dealt with then.

* * *

1 Emojis, however, not so much. In fact, the less said about Aziraphale’s attempts to use emojis, the better.[return to text]

2 Of course he was cheating. The average picnic basket actually could not hold an entire tea cake, three bottles of red wine, three bottles of white wine, a cheese platter, an angel food cake _and_ a devil’s food cake (Aziraphale was feeling just a tad bit mischievous) without there being some sort of cake-related catastrophe. Of which there had been none in Aziraphale’s picnic basket.[return to text]

3 Crowley had perfected this smile about 4000 years ago. It had put the fear of Crowley into any number of people, and many of the early descriptions of menacing smiles were based on his smile. He was very proud of that, and always faintly amused when Aziraphale would point to a passage in whatever book he was reading and gently scold him for terrorising yet another author.[return to text]

4 Quite the trick, given that many angels don’t technically _have_ spines.[return to text]

5 He was being very careful doing this. Flame and feathers do _not_ mix very well and he was in no mood to spend however long it took to moult and replace singed feathers.[return to text]

6 Mostly. But not entirely.[return to text]

7 Except for the piece of cake. That was a lost cause, but the seagulls on the cliffs appreciated the unexpected boon.[return to text]


End file.
